by Alexander Pushkin
Hast thou seen on the rock the maid,
In robe of white above the waves,
When seething in the storm dark
Played the sea with its shores, --
When the glare of lightning hourly
With rosy glimmer her lighted up,
And the wind beating and flapping
Struggled with her flying robe?
Beautiful's the sea in the storm dark,
Glorious is the sky even without its blue;
But trust me: on the rock the maid
Excels both wave, and sky, and storm.
Translator: Translated from the Russian, By Ivan Panin
Cupples And Hurd, 94 Boylston Street, Boston